


fall through the air, hoping to float

by heklin



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Depression, Evan is a healer, Healers, Healing, M/M, Sort Of, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 02:11:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14606937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heklin/pseuds/heklin
Summary: Two times Evan saves Connor, and one time Connor saves Evan.





	fall through the air, hoping to float

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for a suicide attempt, vomit, and the usual mental health stuff (depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts) that comes with most deh fics

**1.**

Evan hasn’t been to the park in a while. It seems smaller than he remembers, but he guesses that makes sense. Everything looks huge when you’re a kid.

He walks down the sidewalk. It forms a circle around the playground, and he remembers having bike races here with his neighbors. When they moved away, he didn’t want to ride his bike alone, so he started spending a lot of time on the swings instead. One time he swung too high and lost his grip, and went flying through the air. He landed hard on the concrete. There was no one around, so he let himself cry, and then healed his skinned knees and scraped palms by himself.

Evan is a healer. His mom is, too, and she’s always told him to keep it a secret. To not use his power unless he absolutely has to.

This is the only reason he hesitates for a second when he sees the body slumped over on the park bench.

“Shit,” he says out loud, and then he’s breaking into a run, and when he gets closer, he realizes that he _recognizes_ the person.

It’s Connor Murphy.

Connor Murphy, who he’s had a weird, unexplainable crush on since the eighth grade.

Connor Murphy, who shoved him this morning after Jared made that stupid joke and Evan made that horrible awkward sound and Connor thought he was laughing at him.

_Fuck._

Connor is pale and shivering violently. Evan kneels in the dirt in front of him and checks his pulse with shaky hands. It’s erratic—way too fast and then too slow, and then too fast again.

“Connor,” he says, willing his voice to remain steady. Connor doesn’t seem to notice him at all. His eyes are sort of glazed over, and there’s some foam at the corner of his mouth. Evan ignores the horrible sinking and twisting feeling in his stomach as he recalls what the signs of an overdose are. He touches Connor’s shoulder. “Connor, did—did you take something?”

Connor blinks a few times, agonizingly slow, and when he focuses on Evan, he seems very confused. “I—” is all he gets out, and then suddenly he’s surging forward and heaving like he’s going to throw up.

Evan scrambles away, because he can’t even handle his _own_ vomit, let alone the possibility of getting someone else’s all over him, and that’s when he sees the pill bottle at Connor’s feet.

Evan picks it up.

It’s completely empty.

“Shit shit shit,” he hisses, feeling kind of like his heart has been ripped out of his chest. What is he supposed to _do_ in this situation? Does he just—wait for Connor throw up?

 _Mom would know what to do,_ he thinks. Yeah. He fumbles for his phone and calls her, praying to any god or higher being that she picks up for once, _pick up pick up pick up please pick up_ —

“Hey, sweetie! You caught me on my break, what’s up?”

Evan almost cries in relief. It’s so good to hear her voice. “Mom, there’s—I’m—” He looks at Connor, who’s hunched in on himself, practically folded in half with his head between his knees. He doesn’t appear to have thrown up yet. “I, um, went for a walk in the park, the one by the middle school, and I—sorry, I know you don’t like when I go out so late but I just had to get out of the house, and oh god, I don’t know what to _do_ —”

“What happened?” His mom asks sharply. “Are you okay?”

Evan squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to focus, to calm down. Having a panic attack right now is not going to help anyone. Especially not Connor, who could be _dying right in front of him._

“There’s this guy here, and he’s sort of conscious but not really, and—and I found a bottle of pills but it’s empty. I’m pretty sure he took them all.”

“Okay,” his mom says, and she sounds calm again. She’s always been good in emergencies. “Okay, did you check for a pulse?”

She thinks he’s found a dead body. Oh god. “No, Mom, he’s not—” Evan gets up off the ground and moves to sit at Connor’s side. “But yeah, I checked and it’s—it’s really fast.”

“Do you know what he took?”

Evan scans the text on the pill bottle, but it’s no use in the dark. “I don’t know—I can’t—I can’t read the—”

“Okay,” she says again. “That’s okay. Do you think you can get him to throw up?”

His stomach twists again at the idea.

But—

Connor isn’t retching anymore, and has gone terrifyingly still.

“Evan?”

“Okay,” Evan gets out. “I can try, yeah.”

“I’m gonna tell them to send an ambulance over. You’re doing great, sweetie. Stay calm, everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Okay,” he says, voice cracking.

He’s mentally preparing himself to have to stick his fingers down another person’s throat, when Connor starts seizing.

Evan makes an impulse decision.

“Mom, you have to cancel the ambulance,” he says shrilly.

“What?” She says with a startled sort of laugh. “Evan—”

“He’s—they’re not gonna make it in time, he’s going to _die_ , and I—I have to save him. I can do it.” There’s a beat of silence on the other end, much longer than Evan cares for right now, so he tells her in a rush, “I’m so sorry, I love you, I have to go, I can do this please trust me,” and hangs up.

He lets the phone fall out of his hand. It lands somewhere on the ground with a thud. He knows that his mom isn’t going to send an ambulance. She’d be too worried that the paramedics would find him while he’s in the middle of healing Connor, and then the whole world would know about what he can do and they’d take him away and he’d live the rest of his life in some government lab, getting poked and prodded at and probably having horrible experiments done on him as they try to figure out how his powers work. She would rather take the risk of some stranger dying than her son being taken away from her.

So he knows there is definitely no ambulance coming. Which is a relief, but also very bad, because it means if he screws this up, then _Connor will die for sure._

So he can’t screw up.

He plants both hands on Connor’s chest—the cast gets in the way at first—and _concentrates,_ and hopes with his entire being that this works, because up until this point his power has been limited to just minor injuries, like cuts and burns. One time, when he was thirteen, he healed a dog who had been hit by a car, but he’s pretty sure the worst it had was a broken leg.

This is something way worse.

(Connor is barely breathing.)

But Evan can do it.

For once in his life, he has faith in himself.

It _hurts._ It hurts like hell, way more than it ever has before, and he has to grit his teeth and shut his eyes against the pain. He’s nauseous, and light bursts behind his eyelids, and then he’s seeing stars and shapes and colors he’s never seen before and his ears ring and when he opens his eyes the whole world has shifted and Connor—

Connor’s eyes are wide open, staring at Evan’s hands. Which are glowing faintly. “What the fuck,” he says in horror.

And then promptly keels over and empties the contents of his stomach all over his and Evan’s shoes.

“Oh my god,” says Evan.

Connor sits up shakily and wipes at his mouth with his sleeve. “What the fuck,” he repeats, voice hoarse.

“Oh my god,” Evan says again, because apparently he isn’t capable of saying anything else.

“I was—” Connor’s eyes narrow, and a crease appears between his eyebrows. He scoots as far away from Evan as he can, gripping the edge of the bench. The pill bottle sits there in between them. He snatches it, turning it over frantically in his heads. “What the fuck? I should be dead!”

Evan’s shaking his head and then he can’t stop. He presses a hand to his forehead, an awkward, uncontrollable laugh bubbling out of him. There is vomit on his only good pair of sneakers. “I can’t believe it worked,” he whispers, overjoyed and amazed and _proud_ of himself.

Connor looks at Evan like he’s stupid. “It _didn’t_ work,” he says, probably thinking Evan was referring to the pills. Connor pushes his hair out of his face and glances back down at the bottle. “Why didn’t it work? I—I _felt_ like I was dying, and then—” His eyes meet Evan’s again. “What did you do?” He demands.

The stress of the whole situation is fully catching up to Evan. He’s having a lot of trouble breathing. When he opens his mouth to speak, all that comes out is a pathetic wheezing sound.

Apparently, near-death experiences do not stop Connor Murphy from being his usual blunt—and kind of rude—self. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m...” Evan breathes in. Breathes out.

Mentally tells himself to calm down.

“Sorry,” he says, and then before he can _lie_ like he’s supposed to because no one can know about his powers, he’s saying, “Healing, um, takes a lot out of me, and that was a lot more than anything I’ve ever—”

He claps a hand over his mouth. Dread and fear curl in the pit of his stomach.

Connor, weirdly enough, does not seem fazed at the fact that Evan just admitted to having healing powers. He doesn’t say _haha very funny_ or call Evan crazy.

No, instead, he’s just really angry. “You couldn’t have just let me _die?”_ He says heatedly, voice cracking in a way that makes Evan’s heart absolutely break into two.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Not because I saved you! But I’m just. I'm sorry.” _Sorry you feel so alone you’d try to kill yourself,_ he doesn’t say. _Sorry for myself, because I feel like that sometimes, too._ He stands up quickly, and twists his hands into the hem of his shirt. “I should go, I’m—I’m gonna go.”

And he does. He leaves Connor Murphy sitting there on the park bench and tries not to look down at the vomit on his shoes and just. Walks home.

 

**2.**

A month later, Evan is at home, doing his homework in the living room while old episodes of Steven Universe play on TV, when he feels a weird sort of tug behind his ribcage.

Suddenly he’s having deja vu—this uncomfortable pull in his chest, it’s a faint echo of a feeling. An echo of the _pain pain pain_ he felt that night when he healed Connor.

He grabs his jacket and is out the door, heading in the direction of the park before he even fully realizes what’s going on.

There’s a familiar figure standing near the bench.

Evan sees Connor at school almost every day. They don’t have any classes together, but it’s hard to miss him in the hallways. Aside from the fact that Evan has a weird, creepy crush on him and therefore always spots him pretty easily, Connor has a very...strong presence. He’s always talking loudly and slamming his locker shut and shoving past people, walking in huge, purposeful strides.

The two of them never talked about that night. In fact, any time their eyes meet in the hallways, Evan immediately averts his gaze, or if he’s stupid enough to continue staring, Connor narrows his eyes at him like _what the fuck are you looking at, loser?_ until he’s forced to look away and/or flee.

_Connor has a pill bottle in his hand._

“What are you _doing_?” Evan says, hysterical, and Connor jumps and drops the bottle, swearing. Evan immediately lunges for it, grabbing it before the taller teen can.

Connor doesn’t even try to fight him for the bottle (which Evan very much appreciates). He makes a frustrated sound and sort of flops onto the bench, arms crossed. “Why the fuck are you here?”

Evan slips the bottle into his jacket pocket. He considers sitting down, but he’s kind of scared to, and also he can’t stop remembering the vomit on his shoes.

He looks down at his sneakers. He had thrown the old pair straight into the trash that night, and when he told his mom about it the very next day, she had called in sick to work just so she could go to the mall and buy him a new pair. When she gave him the box, she kissed him on the forehead and told him she loved him and was proud of him, and then he cried into her shoulder a little bit and asked if she could schedule a sooner appointment for him with Dr. Sherman.

“Sorry,” Evan says, voice small.

Neither of them say anything else for a while. Connor glares at a nearby tree as if it’s personally wronged him, and Evan continues staring down at his sneakers, feeling terribly sad and guilty for no real reason at all.

Actually, no. He feels guilty for leaving Connor that night, for fleeing like the complete coward that he is. He feels guilty for assuming (or maybe hoping) that Connor wouldn’t attempt again.

“Why’d you wait till now?” He blurts out, and then winces. “I just mean, it’s been a month, why…”

Connor kicks at the dirt, looking pissed off and uncomfortable. “I had to figure out how to get more pills. Sorry if it took too fucking long.”

“What?” Evan says, bewildered. “No, I didn’t mean it like that, oh my god, I was just—”

“Shut up, please,” Connor interrupts, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus. I’m so _fucking_ tired.” He looks up at Evan, weary-eyed. “Can you just give it back?”

Evan blinks back sudden tears, grip tightening around the bottle in his pocket. “No, what the hell, I’m not going to stand by and just let you try to kill yourself!”

“Why not?” Connor demands, leaning forward menacingly and raising his voice. Evan tries not to flinch. “Why’d you even save me the first time? Why are you acting like you give a shit? Why are you _here_ , Evan?”

_Because I couldn’t just let you die right in front me of me when I knew I could help._

_Because I do give a shit._

_Because I think I'm kind of in love with you and I know that's crazy but it's the way things are._

_Because, and I don’t know that much about how this healing thing works, but ever since that night, I have this even stronger connection to you. Every time I see you I get that strange feeling in my chest, and it’s different than the annoying butterflies I usually have when I’m around you._

_It brought me here. It told me you would be here again._

Evan decides to change the subject.

“Why aren’t you more freaked out about the fact that I—like, brought you back to life?” He asks with a nervous laugh.

Connor looks up at him sharply. “What, because I’m the school psycho, I have to freak out?”

“ _Anyone_ would freak out if they knew what I could do!”

Connor opens his mouth, then closes it. Some of the anger seems to leave his body. Just a little bit. He shrugs, and then leaves his shoulders tensed up by his ears. “Fine. I don’t know,” he says. “I’d probably question it if I hadn’t…”

“What?” Evan prompts gently, curious.

Connor’s cheeks have gone red, and his jaw is clenched. “If I hadn’t felt it.”

“Oh.” Evan’s heart is hammering. What was it like for Connor? Did it hurt him, too? “I—um.”

“And like. When I came to, I _saw_ it too. You were...uh.” Connor stops, seemingly unable to find the right words.

Evan gets it. He hasn’t been able to find the right words for pretty much his entire life. “I-I don’t really have anything to say to that other than...I’m sorry?”

“But not sorry for doing it,” Connor says flatly.

“Nope,” Evan says, trying to crack a small smile. “I’d do it again if I had to.”

Connor just looks away.

There are a few more minutes of silence. The sun has set, and the sky is clear and dark blue. Connor’s leg bounces up and down restlessly, and his fists clench and unclench in his lap, and then finally, he speaks again.

“Have you always, uh, been able to...do that?”

Evan hesitates. This is new territory for him. He’s never discussed this with anyone before, except for his mom, and those talks pretty much ended as soon as he was old enough to grasp the rules, which were: 1) don’t tell anyone about your powers, 2) don’t use your powers unless you absolutely have to, and 3) if you have to, then try to make sure no one sees or figures it out.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Um, for as long as I can remember. My mom’s a healer, too. That’s why she chose to be a nurse, I think? She’s much better at it. Um, I mean she’s much better with her powers than I am, so she can get away with healing patients and stuff because she’s so good when she does it that no one even notices. She can do it, like, secretly.” Evan takes a deep breath. “Sorry. You—you probably don’t care about that.”

Connor is looking at him through the corner of his eye. His expression is unreadable. “That’s...really fucking cool, actually.”

Evan can’t help the grin that spreads across his face.

And Connor smiles back. Well, sort of. One corner of his mouth ticks upwards. Then he turns his face away, and Evan lets himself admire Connor’s profile up close. His nose is a little crooked, like it’s been broken before, and his lashes are long and dark.

A street light turns on nearby, and flickers. They both watch it with mild curiosity. Connor is the first to lose interest, looking down at his hands and picking at the black polish on his thumbnail.

Something occurs to Evan, then, and before he can overthink everything, he blurts out, “Can I have your number?”

Connor stares at him. And then laughs loudly.

Evan feels his cheeks heating up. God, what is he _doing,_ trying to get Connor Murphy’s number? What is he even doing sitting here with him? Who is he kidding?

Despite his embarrassment, he barrels on, gesturing wildly. “Or I meant, maybe I should have asked if you want _my_ number, to um. Just for if you ever feel—if you ever need—” Evan swallows hard. “Just, I know what it’s like and you could talk to me or something, if you want. If you...you know.”

Connor laughs again, but this time it’s not as harsh. This time it’s a sound that Evan really...likes.

“Okay,” he says, pulling out his phone and practically shoving it into Evan’s hands.

Evan suddenly doesn’t know what to do with it, and holds it awkwardly. “Really? I mean, you don’t think it was kind of...dumb of me to suggest?”

Connor gives him a look that says _do you really want me to answer that?_

Evan puts his number in. Connor’s screen is cracked beyond belief. When he’s done—it takes a few tries, because his hands are like, always shaking, which makes it hard to type—he passes his own phone to Connor, and Connor does the same.

Connor stands up after they’ve given each other back their phones, and Evan gets up, too, feeling a sort of like a newborn deer first learning how to walk, or something. He’s painfully aware of how awkward he must look, stumbling a little, hunched in on himself, and trying not to shiver because the jacket he’s wearing is not thick enough for this weather. Connor, however, looks almost just as awkward. He has his arms crossed tightly over his chest, and he actually _is_ shivering.

Evan thinks back to that night, the way Connor was shivering violently, and how pale he was, and how he was cold as stone to the touch.

He was so close to death.

“Can I walk you home?” Evan asks.

It feels like the right thing to do.

Connor stares at him for a long moment, jaw set like he’s preparing for a fight or trying to figure out if Evan’s joking (or both, probably). Evan tries not to be intimidated, tries not to shrink further into himself under Connor’s gaze.

“Sure,” Connor says finally. “Whatever.”

They both do not acknowledge the sound of the pills rattling in Evan’s pocket as they walk.

When they get to Connor’s house, a light turns on in one of the upstairs windows. Evan can make out a figure peering through the blinds.

Connor makes a face. “My mom,” he says, annoyed, and Evan nods and tries not to burst into fucking tears because Connor’s mom is watching from the window and she has no idea that her son went to the park today for the sole purpose of killing himself there.

“I’ll see you at school?” Evan says, voice coming out thick and weird. He coughs to clear his throat. “And you can text me. Only if you want! No, um—no pressure.”

Connor just nods kind of distractedly, and then he’s making his way to the front door and calling over his shoulder without looking back, “Yeah, see you.”

-

When Evan gets home, his mom is on the couch, reading a book. His homework is still spread out on the coffee table, same as how he left it. He lets out a very pathetic sob when he sees her, face crumpling. She turns around, and then she’s suddenly at his side, touching his arm, asking him what’s wrong.

Wordlessly, he pulls out the pill bottle from the pocket of his jacket and gives it to her.

She inhales sharply, and then guides him to the couch, brushing his hair away from his forehead. Her hands are on his face, then his shoulder, then his hand, like she can’t seem to decide what to do with herself, or what to do at all. “Where did you get these?”

“They’re not mine, I swear they’re not mine,” he wails, vision blurry with tears, and then gets out between sobs, “They were—remember that guy Connor? He was gonna try to— _again_ —”

“Oh,” his mom says. She wraps her arms around him and pulls him close. He cries into her shoulder the same way he did that night a month ago, only this time he feels about twenty times sadder. So sad he thinks he might just. Fall apart. “Oh, Evan, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Do you wanna talk about it?”

Sometime last year, after a particularly difficult therapy session, Evan confessed to her how sometimes he gets the urge to do dumb things like jump out of trees. And she had looked so _upset_ and told him that she wished she could heal all kinds of pain, not just the physical stuff, so that he wouldn’t have to hurt so much all the time.

Evan shakes his head, shuddering as he takes deep breaths.

His mom says, “Okay,” and just continues holding him for a while.

-

At school, Connor still acts kind of like Evan doesn’t exist.

So Evan is definitely surprised when he gets a text from him a week later. At three in the morning.

 **connor:** hey

 **connor:** uh. it’s probably weird that i’m texting you but

 **connor:** but i can’t sleep and i have a lot of questions

 **Evan:** not weird at all!! I mean I did tell you that you could text me so no worries

 **connor:** why are you up rn wtf

 **Evan:** I couldn’t sleep either

 **Evan:** what kind of questions?

 **connor:** does it only work on people?

 **connor:** the healing thing

 **Evan:** nope. one time I healed a dog that had been hit by a car

 **connor:** what about plants??

 **Evan:** believe me I’ve tried before, it never works

 **Evan:** maybe because they’re already dead when I try to like. return them to their original state?

 **connor:** so for it to work, whatever you’re healing has to be alive

 **Evan:** yeah

Evan thinks about how the last time they talked, Connor said he felt like he’d been in the process of dying.

 **Evan:** or at least hanging on by a thread.

 **connor:** yikes

 **Evan:** sorry sorry oh ym god

 **connor:** very passive aggressive of you

 **Evan:** I know I’m so sorry

Connor does have a lot more questions about healing, and Evan tries to answer them as best as he can. Sometime around four in the morning, the conversation takes an unexpected turn. Connor starts asking about...other things. Like what Evan’s favorite books and movies are, what his favorite color is, what he likes to do in his free time, if he has any siblings, if he has an opinion on pineapple pizza.

 **Evan:** it’s Bad. cursed

 **connor:** good answer

 **Evan:** um I just saw the time and realized?? I have to be up in like an hour to get ready for school

 **connor:** yup

 **connor:** thanks for the distraction, sorry i kept you up till 5 in the morning

 **Evan:** anytime. seriously.

 

**3.**

A few weeks go by.

Connor texts him every couple of days.

Connor acts like he wants to get to know him.

Connor sort of waves at him in the hallways.

It makes Evan’s heart flutter and makes his brain get dumb and hopeful, but he can’t help but think that it doesn’t change the way things are. The way things are always going to be.

He’s kind of sick of everything.

He’s sick of pretending things are fine, because _he’s_ not fine, and all he can think about a lot of the time is how much better it would be if he never existed.

Exhausted and upset, he goes to the park after school. Not the same one where he found Connor. This one is farther away and has more trees. Good for climbing.

He doesn’t know why he’s like this. He doesn’t even have any, like, _real_ problems. Sure, there’s the anxiety disorder, but that shouldn’t make him want to _kill himself._

He picks a tree and hoists himself up onto the lowest branch, then just sits there, hugging the trunk and taking deep breaths for a long time. He focuses on the roughness of the bark under his palms, the smell of the leaves, the slight breeze in his hair. He likes being among nature. It helps ground him.

“Evan?”

Evan opens his eyes, and grips the tree a little bit tighter. Connor is standing there looking up at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“Hi,” Evan says. His voice sort of cracks.

“Hi,” Connor says slowly. “What are you doing here?”

Evan takes in the way Connor rocks back and forth on his feet. He’s wearing a faded green T-shirt, and his hoodie is balled up in his hands. “What are _you_ doing here?” Evan counters.

Connor shrugs. His cheeks go kind of red. “I just—it’s crazy, and weird, I know, but I had a feeling that you’d be here.”

“Oh,” Evan says. He doesn’t tell Connor that he knows what he means, for fear of giving himself away. He’d probably say, _I feel the same way sometimes_ and then blurt out _also I have a crush on you._ Or something like that.

He wonders how long the feeling is going to last.

He’ll have to ask his mom if this is a common after-effect. Does she maintain a weird connection with the people she heals?

“Why are you…” Connor makes an annoyed sound. “Didn’t you break your arm falling out of a tree?”

Evan climbs down, and brushes himself off once his feet are on the ground. “I didn’t fall,” he says tiredly, eyes on Connor’s hands, which are fidgeting with the hoodie.

“So you lied?” Connor asks. “How’d you really break it?”

“I, um. I did it on purpose. I just…” Evan trails off.

There isn’t really much else to say.

He sits down heavily against the base of the tree, and Connor sits down next to him without hesitation. Their shoulders touch.

“You know how you told me I could talk to you about, like. Stuff?” Connor asks. Evan looks at him, confused, and he sighs. “That goes both ways, Evan.”

“Oh,” Evan murmurs. His hands feel really sweaty, so he wipes them on his jeans, and then he doesn’t really know why but he blurts out, “I have a therapist.”

“But you don’t have any friends,” Connor says pointedly.

“Right,” Evan says, voice small. 

Connor gets up and offers him a hand. Evan stares at it for a second, then wipes his own again and takes it, letting Connor pull him up.

“Can I walk you home?” Connor asks, and it’s almost like he’s teasing.

He’s still holding Evan’s hand.

“Sure,” Evan says, trying to ignore the way his heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of his chest. “Whatever.”

Connor snorts and leads the way down the sidewalk.

 

**epilogue**

Sometimes Evan wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, fighting off a panic attack, tears drying on his cheeks.

Then he turns and Connor’s there next to him, and Evan presses his hands to his neck and his wrists until he’s  _sure_ he can feel a pulse, and relief washes over him.

Connor stirs and says, voice hoarse with sleep, “Nightmare?”

“Yeah,” Evan whispers.

Connor loops one long arm around his waist and pulls him closer. “Sorry,” he mutters into Evan’s shirt.

“S’okay.” Evan works his fingers through the tangles in Connor’s hair. Sometimes he still can’t believe he gets to sleep next to Connor most nights. That he gets to _be_ with Connor.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Connor tells him.

“Me either,” Evan says quietly. (Even though he's still not entirely sure. He still doesn't want to be alive, sometimes. But he's working on it. They both are.) Then he gives Connor a playful pinch on the butt, and Connor laughs and rolls on top of him, kissing him soundly.

He pulls away after a few seconds. "Thanks," he says, eyes wide and serious.

Evan swallows down the lump in his throat. "For what?"

"You know," he says, exasperated. He laces their fingers together. "For being there. For saving me. I know I was mad about it for a long time, but. I should thank you." He pauses. "So thank you. Really."

Evan shakes his head. "Please don't," he gets out. "I would do it again. I would do it a million times."

Connor grins a little. "You've said that before. A  _million_ times."

"Just—don't thank me for it, okay?"

"Okay, fine," Connor says. He squeezes Evan's hand, then kisses him again.

Evan drifts off to the sound of Connor's breathing. There's a pull in his chest, but it's the happy, warm kind that comes with feeling content.

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! I've had this idea for a really long time and I finally finished it instead of working on my other fic or on a project that's due tomorrow!!
> 
> fic title from song for lonely giants by the mountain goats
> 
> please leave kudos and comment to make my day, and follow me on tumblr @jaredklein :-)


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